


Siren-Song

by AnOtterShambles



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: A kiss-fic to make up for our intrepid lesbian nurses not getting a proper farewell kiss, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:39:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOtterShambles/pseuds/AnOtterShambles





	

Patsy strode unseeing along the corridor in the grey half-light, her heels clicking sharply on the floor and her hands shaking as she tried to stuff her purse back into her pocket.  
Her heart knocked madly against her ribs, sending a hot, jabbing pulse down to her toes and to the very tips of her ears. Her ragged breathing rasped in her ears as she blindly made her way into the mercilessly spotless clinical room and groped for the sponge by the sluice, still smelling damply of chlorine. She pummelled the sparkling surface of the draining board for a moment, gritting her teeth against the clangour of emotion in her heart and sinking her nails into the creamy white foam forming around her fingers. Gradually, her furious scrubbing slowed as her blinding fury at Sister Ursula dimmed and the adrenaline racing through her veins drained blankly away, leaving her staring vacantly at the gleaming surfaces around her. 

She had known since the first letter arrived that she would go back to Hong Kong. The pale-blue envelope with its red and navy border was like the first notes of a siren-song; sad, sinister, and, cruelly, impossible to deny. For all that she had told Delia she was trying to ignore it and hope that it would pass her over, she knew she would have to go back there. Saying it aloud to Sister Ursula in a fit of rage, hearing the words in her own voice, choked with grief, was like a death-knell.  
Patsy sank to her knees before the cabinets and tried to catch her breath. The back of her ever-whirring mind was zipping with details, arrangements – booking passage from Portsmouth, passport, postal order, obtaining compassionate leave, medical bag, traveller’s cheques, quinine, tropical medicine textbook, suncream – but in the forefront of her mind there was only one thought, clear and cool:

Delia.

She pushed herself to her feet, and calmly rinsed the sponge before placing it carefully in the small dish by the tap. She left the clinical room, pausing by the door to switch off the main lights, and headed for the entrance hall and the dark stairs beyond. Her heels clicking on the floor were less strident now, but more hurried, and when she reached the landing outside her room she paused and listened. She could tell Delia was inside by the careful silence radiating out of the room, heavy silence made by someone trying very hard not to make any noise. She tapped her knuckles very softly against the door, and pushed it open.  
Delia was sitting up on Patsy’s bed, an ancient textbook propped on her knees and a pencil twirling idly in her hand. She gave a small start at Patsy’s knock, and when she looked up her face split into a relieved smile.

“I was thinking you’d fallen asleep at the hospital, any longer and I would have called it a night...”

Her whisper trailed off as she took in Patsy’s face. Patsy hadn’t moved towards her, only stood by the half-open door, silhouetted by the lamp-light on the landing. Delia pushed her book to one side and got up wordlessly to stand beside her. In her bare feet, and Patsy still in her work shoes, Delia’s head barely came up to Patsy’s chin. She tilted her head back to look her in the eye, and with a small smile that didn’t extend past her lips, she stated,

“You’re going home.” 

Patsy’s eyes filled with tears. Never taking her gaze from Delia’s, she reached one long arm behind her to shove the door shut and brought the other around to pull Delia closer to her. Hot tears coursed unchecked down her face as she brought her brow forward to touch Delia’s small, warm face. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she lifted her hand into Delia’s hair. She could not bring herself to look into her lover’s eyes, instead squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging tears still pouring down her cheeks.   
Patsy felt Delia lift her own hand and gently cup the side of her face. Her thumb carefully wiped the tears from Patsy’s cheekbones and the side of her nose, and with firm but gentle pressure Delia’s hand slowly pulled Patsy’s face into range of her own. She barely touched her lips off Patsy’s, and when she broke away a moment later they both tasted salt. Patsy’s breathing slowed and deepened as the silence around them deepened and thrummed. Delia leaned forward and pressed her lips again on the hot skin of Patsy’s jaw, her chin, still slick with tears – she dropped her hands to Patsy’s waist and pulled herself closer into her. Patsy responded by wrapping her arms tightly around Delia and resting her chin on top of the smaller girl’s head. With Delia’s head pressed against her chest and nestled into her neck, Patsy could feel her heartbeat slowing.

Who would I be without you?

The thought floated unbidden across Patsy’s still-frantic mind. She gently dipped her head and kissed Delia again, lingering longer over the petal-touch of her lips and the incredible closeness of her. Her heart was hurting; the very air hurt, with love of her. When she finally spoke, the whisper was raw, painful, but burning and alive;

“I am home.”


End file.
